Wheeling Gull Isle a tall ship and a star to steer her by

The inky girl had been freed from the clutching seaweed, but the sea did not relinquish her entirely. She lay cold on the sand, the rain and the mist clouding his field of vision around them, looking [for all intents and purposes], very dead. The sky had darkened in its fury but even with such limited light, he could clearly see the scalloped edge of the girl’s ribcage and see that she was starved; more so than she was the last time he had seen her, all those weeks ago. There was a moment that he could only stare at the puddle of ink doubtfully — would they give him to her, to take her, only to give her back but take her once more, mere moments later? — and as he lamented the creature called Coelacanth, Komodo jostled her around, pressing his nose against the bony parts of her body and hoping to shake the life back into her 

As he and the ghostlike woman [was it aria?] worked to resuscitate the limpid form, Komodo pondered his attachment to the waifish thing that lay twisted about his legs. The earthstalker was not a man wont to shackle himself with the ties that bind, but he did covet and there was a neediness about her that drew him in and held him there indeed. It did not really make sense; she was a soul with whom they shared only several months — and many of those months were spent distant — but as much as Komodo liked to believe he was a man entirely unfettered by the past, he also know that wasn’t true.

Then, moments later, she sputtered to life. She stood there, sodden and stiff legged, chest heaving from the rush and Komodo only stared. His firebright gaze, alive with the energy from the storm and the girl’s resurrection, watched on as the girl’s lip wrinkled into the beginning of a snarl and the angakkuq understood, for the storm raged and disoriented them both. Yet, at the same time he did not understand, as something truly awful must have befallen the silken ingenue. He had been right all along.
 
Komodo’s eyes danced from the girl back to Aria, not entirely sure what to do with this feral creature, but when she swayed to and fro the brute positioned his frame to buttress her weight and keep her, for the most part, standing. He shifted his shoulder, feeling her featherlight bones against his. The earthstalker swallowed thickly. “Hey, big ears” he crooned gently, his roughhewn tone felt through the vibrations of his chest more than it was perceived by the ears. He worked to keep his tone cool; not the snappish instructions delivered to Axolotl and the unknown girl— he did not want to incite her further. This was no place for a starved soul’s hysteria — let her defy him later, after the gods spent the last of their energies and the storm moved on — but now was the time for compliance. All she needed to do was follow his and Aria’s guidance, and all would be well.

Axolotl had turned to meet them. Just as Komodo had, the Atlanian recognized the sheepdog easily; he could not help but be struck with a sense of divine providence at the three of them finding one another… and Ixchel was upon the island, too, hopefully hale and dry somewhere, no worse for wear. Once they were all safe and the storm spent, the search would begin for survivors — not just for Ixchel, but for the many others who had been born of the sea. The unknown woman and the small one’s disappearance had not gone unnoticed.

The maestro whipped up around them and Axolotl made to lead the caravan from the sea’s hellfire. Komodo had no further objections. With the white women pressing up against the skeletal girl’s other side, they shuffled forward and after the seawolf who oddly seemed at home within the storm.  “Easy,” he grumbled.  “One step at a time.”